"geologists" poems
I guess the metal is
bound leaf like.
I'm like the bubbles
of the rift; quickly formed
and quickly done. The
air inside happens only so long
I can escape to the
chromium metal and tease
the snakes. Let's see how
they like it.
Pollution is aprtheid.
Apartheid is man-made,
like the lake, the rubbermaid
containers. The earth
is a big etch a sketch. This
will give geologists something to
figure out in a few thousand years.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 4:26 PM UTC
Was I pure igneous rock
and you sedimentary stone
both undeniably metamorphic,
look, everything's changed.
Hidden layers you obscured
deposited through thousands
of tiny imprints, consequences
of each a tiny blade still felt.
Geologists studied us but
no answers did they provide,
an unhappy cohesion of the
earth and none the better for it.
The pressure you put on my
atoms yielded surprising results,
intrusive company chipped
away at the outer layers.
But I longed for the fire and
you for other marble to which
my quartz could not compare,
friction reducing both to rubble.
You brought blood from a stone
and so I eroded you twice as fast
because it seems these two rocks
cannot make a love that can last.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
WE DON'T HAVE THE TIME
FOR ASTRONAUTICAL
ARCHAEOLOGY OR GEOLOGY!
IN NAUTICAL TERMS
COPERNICUS SAID THAT
THERE'S NO EAST OR WEST
WITHIN THE GEOMETRIC
CONSTELLATION OF THE STARS...
THERE IS NO ARCHAEOLOGY ON MARS
THERE'S ONLY GEOLOGY -
WE DON'T HAVE TIME FOR
ASTRONAUTS PLAYING THE GIMMICK
OF GEOLOGISTS...
IF THERE'S NO ARCHAEOLOGY WORTH
INSPECTING ON MARS,
THEN ALL GEOLOGY WILL
ONLY PROVIDE US A GEOLOGY
we could easily find carbon dating on earth...
mind you, didn't we like ******* too much?
WE DON'T HAVE THE TIME -
WE DON'T HAVE THE TIME -
UNLESS YOU WANT IT TO BECOME
A CINEMATIC PROPHESY OF
THE RICHEST GET OFF FIRST AND
BY BEING FIRST THE ONLY ONES TO GET OFF;
THERE'S ABSOLUTELY NO *******
REASON TO FICTIONALISE OUR SITUATION;
GET IT?!
I GET IT... THERE'S ONE PANIC ATTACK
PRIOR TO THE TSUNAMI, AND NO ONE MINDS...
THEN THEY ARE KNEE-DEEP IN
SEAWATER, THEN "SUDDENLY" EVERYONE
REMEMBERS THE WEATHERMAN PROPHETIC
ABOUT THE WEATHER ON MONDAY
AND "CARING" WHETHER YOU TOOK OUT
YOUR UMBRELLA OR NOT...
AND YOU THINK... SHOULDN'T I'VE HAD
A WASTED THOUGHT RATHER THAN WASTING
TIME IN THE UNDERGROUND LABYRINTHS
DURING THE BLITZ... WELL... A WASTED
TIME, BUT HARDLY A WASTED SPACE,
SINCE YOU'RE THERE, A SINE OR A COSINE
CURVE OF CONTINUITY...
AND NOT A TANGENTS CURVE OF:
HERE ONE MINUTE / GONE THE NEXT...
well, wouldn't we all like to enshrine our politics
as the pinnacle, and our lack of co-operation
as the dire foreseeable exclusion to mind the
ecclesiastical Eden of our hopes ****** minding
the flag of Wales prior to the unearthing of
the fire-breathing lizard skeletons; at least we gave hope
to the third and last world - who will lazily
accept its fate as if a brightly lit room
and the mammalian candle extinguished without
a sadistic approach to industrialise the poll of death.
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 9:52 PM UTC
When you left, it made me think about the way geologists had to come up with words for how the continents broke apart.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
The ground had rumbled for quite some time
It was only a minor quake,
The people grumbled, it came and went
But it kept them all awake,
‘They say there was a volcano here
A billion years ago,
But it’s long since dead, the geologists said,
And there’ll be no lava flow.’
They’d built the suburb on rising ground,
And roads, right up to the peak,
The ground was rocky and unforgiving
The soil was grey and weak,
So little grew on that rising crest
Just the odd saltbush or so,
They couldn’t drill through the rock beneath
To help their bushes grow.
I would venture out and would take the air
When the house cooled down at night,
But always felt there was something there
That would make me feel uptight,
I felt the rumble, under my feet
It was like a muffled roar,
And I thought a whimsical thought one night,
It was like an old man’s snore.
One night I wandered up to the crest
And I saw two bushes move,
They seemed to tremble and flutter there
Just above a ball shaped groove,
The rumble stopped as I stood and watched
From under the starlit skies,
The bushes opened to crystal orbs,
Just like a pair of eyes.
They fixed me there in their crystal stare
And I didn’t dare to breathe,
The summit started to shake and move,
And then it began to heave,
The houses built on the crest fell down
It was like a huge hiccup,
And I fell tumbling to the ground
As the Mountain God stood up!
David Lewis Paget
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 2:27 AM UTC
i've decided
i do miss the way you said my name
in the most innocent, casual sense
i dont even think you meant to say it
and i don't think i really heard it,
but i hear it now.
i feel my heart sink a bit closer to the floor once i realize
the sound of your voice is beginning
to transform into a memory, something foreign, something i don't know.
you spoke your tones through my name, sometimes your anger,
sometimes your apologies
attempting to vent what i feel through the bottom of my pen familiarizes me with what it was like for geologists to come up with words for how the continents fell apart,
and why planets can't be planets anymore.
your voice had varying volume levels just like my love for you and i'm sorry i'm bad at timing,
bombs come with warning labels,
and the nights i couldn't speak, i pointed
at mine.
and the nights i could speak, i told you,
you shouldn't await your detonation.
i tried
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 9:56 PM UTC
She
who has climbed the mountain
in me
knows
that the mountain erodes
and falls back to
the sea
and
she
understands.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 5:58 PM UTC